Monday, November 3, 2014

Blood On The Factory Floor

You know it’s blue, don’t you?

Only for a split second

Which makes it seem even more unreal

Sometimes it flows so fast

There’s a white foam-like substance

That rides its top

Much like the foam that rides the top of a wave

Cresting in an ocean’s far-off horizon

But it’s no ocean

Nor is it a horizon

It’s the fast flowing blood of misfortune

Of pain

The nail gun

The cut knife

The spin of the buzz saw


Are jagged teeth of the factory

The machines keep going

As the injured are carried away

We keep working


The blood of our coworkers mopped up

Putting our feelings aside

For we’ve all sold ourselves to the factory

To the dollar

To the bills that never seem to stop coming

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

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